


A Gift for the Empress

by CaptainBrower



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-05-20 15:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14897264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainBrower/pseuds/CaptainBrower
Summary: Rated M for future chapters"By the will art thou lost, by the will art thou found, by the will art thou free, captive, and bound." - Angelus Silesius





	1. The Fall of Adrienne's Library

They came in the sunshine. 

By midday the sky was black with smoke, filled with the desperate wailing of those trapped inside. Fueled by a high wind, flames licked at the roof timbers, spreading quickly amongst the sheaves of paper and vellum. 

Soldiers swarmed from building to building, killing anyone who cowered inside. The butcher, the horse boy, and even the Head Librarian - all met the same fate. Horses screamed in their stalls, frenzied and foaming in the heat of the fire.

Blood stained the earth, splashing across centuries-old stone walls and pooling in the trampled gardens. It dripped from the spear tips and sword blades used to cut down the unfortunate few able to escape from the library before the doors were barricaded and a torch set to the pages.

They were here to test their weapon.

A thunderous report echoed from the library to the mountain as the eastern wall collapsed, a white dust cloud joining the plumes of smoke and flame. The structure was no match for the iron ball that tore so easily through its stone and mortar. Support beams splintered and groaned, audibly protesting the malicious onslaught - the swansong of a once elegant place of reflection and study. Survivors poured from the ruined gates onto the waiting blades of the soldiers who gathered to watch the cannon.

A second shot buckled the western wall. A third collapsed the building entirely, showering the air with sparks and ash. The fire roared, swallowing the bodies of the dead until an eerie silence finally consumed the area, the only sounds that of crackling embers and falling masonry. 

Through it all, a shadowy figure observed from the hilltop. Bathed in smoke from the fires below and dressed in armor as black as the soul it protected, the warrior surveyed the devastation. It had been quick and brutal, exactly as ordered, but when he descended to examine the ruins, he made sure to run his blade slowly through anything still daring to breathe.

Some say his eyes blazed red, a worldly reflection of the demon within. Those scarce few who escaped the destruction came away with a single phrase, a cry that would echo for a decade still to come:

“Flee the Hound of War; Flee Commander Wolfe.”

~oo~

Fletch didn’t mind telling his children the story; he supposed, in some way, it kept them safe. They learned the threat of war, of Commander Wolfe in particular, and they knew what to do when the bell rang to announce an attack should another one come. It felt inevitable. 

Some preferred not to speak of it, pretending instead that their idyllic, peaceful life in the shadow of Empress Serena’s castle would last forever. Adrian Fletcher was more realistic and he heeded the rumors as well as he could. It wasn’t _if_ the attack would come, but _when_ , and he would be damned if he buried his head in the pig trough and let it happen.

Sometimes the neighborhood children would all get together and pretend to battle. It endeared him that the children were so hopeful - Serena’s forces _always_ proved the victor during playtime. It was a fantasy, of course, but he admired their optimism. It helped him to keep his own.

Fletch tousled the hair of his youngest, sending the boy to play with his siblings while he worked to build the growing wall between the castle outskirts and the war torn land beyond. It was not glamorous work for a village healer, but his skills were rarely needed here in the relative safety near the castle. It had been months since the last refugees had poured in from the Western border. He was beginning to think Commander Wolfe was running out of people to kill.

Fletch swung his hands while he walked, boots kicking up mud from the recent rainfall. It was both a blessing and a burden; the rain brought better harvests, but it surely made for a troublesome walk to work. The rain had halted construction for a few days, but it was finally dry enough to work again and the volunteers were eager to resume. He smiled as he got closer, enjoying the solid rhythmic thud of hammers against stone and the scrape of trowels laying mortar. The worry of an imminent attack spurred them on, gave them all the energy they needed for the long hours of hard labour. It helped that they could _see_ how much they’d accomplished in three years, for the wall enclosing the town that encircled the castle was close to finished now.

Fletch nodded to a few men and women, making his way around hastily erected shacks and the occasional mound of stones waiting to be cut by the more experienced masons. Not everyone working was a builder or a stonewright, but they all came together for the betterment of the entire city, and if that didn’t perfectly describe the atmosphere of Serena’s kingdom, Fletch didn’t know what would. 

He looked around at dirty faces and hands, glad he had settled here before the influx of refugees and settlers fleeing the Northern war machine and its executor. The loss of his wife still pained him, but he bore it for the sake of their four children that he was able to save. Up ahead, the foreman shouted orders, fighting to be heard over the creaking ropes that struggled to bear the weight of a large stone block.

Fletch joined in at the back of the line, pulling just as hard on the rope as the woman in front of him. Together, he and eleven others hoisted the block into place. The foreman smoothed the edge where the mortar oozed between the two stones. He patted the block with a rough hand, smiling brightly. Fletch could see the wall would be finished soon; perhaps even later in the week. He clapped hands with those around him and moved farther down where still more people stacked smaller stones to reinforce the wall. He joined them, a smile touching his eyes. The wall meant _hope_ , and the sooner it was finished, the better everyone would feel. 

~oo~

The wall was not finished by the end of the week, nor by the end of the month. A grueling and soggy three months later, Fletch joined his children in the castle proper to celebrate the completion of the barrier.

Theo and Ella clung to his hands while Mikey and Evie darted ahead to play with the other children. Everywhere he looked there were people drinking, smoking and laughing. Large groups carried on raucous conversations and it was refreshing to see the occasional pair of youngsters slipping off to be alone. Fletch allowed himself to get lost in the enthusiasm, infected by the mirth that surrounded him.

Tugging hard at his arms, Theo and Ella suddenly pointed in unison toward the far end of the hall. He could just see her over the crowd of people: a woman of enchanting presence and immeasurable character. She was a vision in a pale green gown that drew the eye from bare shoulders to delicate ankles in gold sandals and a white gold diadem that stood in stark contrast to her short dark hair. Even though they had been here for two years, the family rarely saw the monarch who had kindly taken them in. 

Fletch hoisted his two smallest children into his arms so they could see her better.

“It’s the Empress,” he said, watching as their faces filled with wonder.

When Evie and Mikey returned to his side, jumping up and down to spot a glimpse for themselves, Fletch just laughed and led them to a table. As Mikey clambered up onto the tabletop, Evie promised to keep an eye on her siblings while Fletch went to get them some food.

He returned to the table just as a band started up, jaunty music filling the air. His children ate quickly as revellers made a space for dancing, and once they’d finished, Evie, Mikey, and Theo darted off to join the other kids who chased each other through the spirited crowds.

Ella pulled at his sleeve and held her arms out to be picked up. “Dance, Dada?”

Fletch laughed and lifted his youngest daughter into his arms, spinning her around and around as the girl laughed brightly. Next, he set her down so her feet were on top of his own and held her hands tightly. They danced out of time with the music because of the awkward position, but Fletch didn’t care and as Ella continued to giggle uncontrollably, he felt nothing but joy as he spun her around a final time.

Suddenly, one of the hall doors burst open, banging hard against the stone wall with enough force to extinguish a nearby torch, forcing a hush over the entire crowd. Someone’s baby began to wail, cutting the air and tempering the mood with unexpected tension as all eyes stared toward the open door.

A young soldier strode into the hall, heavy boots landing hard on the stone floor. His cropped brown hair was slick with sweat and his armor dirty from a hurried ride. The crowd jostled to see what lay beyond the door, their hushed murmurs growing louder, as three more soldiers followed him inside, a rope held securely between them. 

A single word from the Empress silenced them and parted the crowd from one end of the hall to the other.

“Dominic.”

Her tone was sharp and low, a warning, but he continued to stride purposefully toward her as her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“Forgive me,” he begged, sinking to one knee a few feet in front of her, head bowed low in apology. “It was not my intention to interrupt the festivities, but-”

He waved for the men behind him to move forward, and the villagers erupted into noise once more as they hauled on the rope, dragging their prize into the hall. 

A woman stumbled into the firelight, falling to her knees as the tether binding her hands jerked her forward. She was dressed in light furs: buckskin and summer hare, reinforced with chain link at the chest, shoulders, neck, and thighs. Her blonde hair was cut near her chin, filthy and streaked with blood from a shallow cut behind her ear. Dark brown eyes glared from beneath a choppy fringe, fixed directly upon the Empress.

Dom seized the rope and twisted it around his hand, dragging the woman forward. She snarled and resisted but was too weak to put up much of a fight.

Serena took a step forward, silencing the crowd once more as they stared with baited breath. 

Dom bowed again and extended the tether to his leader. His voice was loud in the hall, carrying easily to all ears.

“I present a gift for the Empress.”


	2. Berenice

Her legs ached from the long walk. The skin of her wrists was scraped raw from struggling against the rope in which she’d been bound. And now her knees throbbed so painfully from striking the stone floor and from being dragged roughly across it that she was certain she must have bled through her trousers.

Overcome with fury and a deafening rush of blood, her ears picked up only bits of hurried whispers as the rope jerked her unsteadily to her feet once more.

_“Who is she?”_

_“Where did she come from?”_

_“Barbarian!”_

She sneered as the young punk who’d captured her presented her as a _gift._ Berenice cast her gaze around the room quickly, wondering how many others here shared that distinction, before locking eyes with a steely brunette.

Taking the center of the room, and clearly lapping up the attention of his townsfolk, the soldier regaled the crowd with a tale of extraordinary heroism. And it was most definitely _a tale._

“We were returning home from Belamy when we found the Northern scout snooping around the village border -” 

Berenice scoffed. _Found me sleeping more like._

She twisted her hands and tried to make a space for her chafed wrists, but no amount of fussing would budge the binding despite the fact that she’d been trying for days.

“There was a terrible scuffle,” he explained, dramatically re-enacting his moves for the riveted spectators as Berenice snorted.

_You snuck up on me, you sneaky little…_

“But we proved victorious in combat!” he boomed, thrusting his short sword into the air to a rapturous applause that made Berenice’s skull pound. 

_“Hit me on the bloody head when I wasn’t looking,”_ she grumbled, the words ground out through clenched teeth and low enough to go unnoticed. 

The soldier, Dominic, finished his story by bowing before the woman in green. “She is a hard won prize, your Majesty. We have returned with a fierce warrior of the North. For you.”

The Empress scrutinized her with nothing more than a raised eyebrow, but still it sent a shiver through her. When the woman stepped closer, Berenice shifted uncomfortably and a ripple of hand-covered whispers swirled through the hall. She tried to stand a little taller, tried to make herself more imposing, but the aches persisted and her back protested and she could do nothing but wince. 

Berenice eyed the Empress cautiously as the woman took another step forward, wary of the unusual proximity.

“What is her name?” the Empress demanded, and Berenice’s lips twitched into a smirk as Dominic spluttered an excuse.

“Uhhhh… we don’t know, Majesty.”

“You didn’t ask?” she snipped, her tone clipped and her brow furrowed enough to appear disapproving.

“No, she - uh - we gagged her,” he fumbled. “To prevent her from severing her tongue, Your Highness.” It wasn’t entirely false, and she suspected he was only trying to save face, but she wasn’t about to reveal his lie or the fact that she’d bitten one of the other soldiers in an effort to escape.

When the woman extended a hand toward her face, she flinched and snarled like a cornered animal. Resisting another instinctive urge to bite, she scrabbled backwards as much as she could to put some distance between them. It was bad enough she had been brought here; she wouldn’t be pawed at for this woman’s twisted amusement. 

Scowling fiercely, Berenice appraised her captor. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected of the Southern Empress, but it wasn’t a middle aged, square-faced woman whose soft arms could barely lift a butter knife, let alone a sword or polearm. She was short, shorter than almost everyone else in the room, and there was nothing alarming or striking about her appearance except for the slight cleft in her chin. The Empress’ face was painted plainly and her accessories were demure compared to the Northern Queen’s gaudy bangles and chains.

How could a woman like that command such attention?

Someone was playing a joke, perhaps. Maybe any moment now the _real_ Empress would make herself known...

“Does she even speak our language?” the Empress asked, sighing with irritation as Dominic fiddled with his fingertips and shuffled from foot to foot in lieu of an answer.

Berenice was fighting another smile when the Empress turned and looked her directly in the eye. Her expression was hard, formidable even, but Berenice refused to look away.

The next time she spoke, the Empress’ voice was as sharp as cut glass.

“What. Is. Your. Name?”

Berenice hesitated, watched the Empress’ jaw work as she considered what to say. 

“Berenice,” she said, finally, the word broken up by a voice hoarse and raspy from days of disuse.

Unimpressed, the Empress barely even acknowledged that she’d spoken, and so she cleared her throat, tilted her chin upward in defiance, and spoke in a tone she’d used many times before..

“My _name…_

 

...is Berenice.”

~oo~

A bell tolled, signalling the start of the work day. It reverberated all the way to her teeth and Berenice groaned, wanting to remain undisturbed. As she turned over, her back twinged painfully, unused to the formless cot assigned to her in the servants’ quarters. She rolled again with an aggravated sigh and tried to find a comfortable position, but as she buried deeper beneath the scratchy potato sack that passed for a blanket, she was soaked from head to toe with ice cold water.

With a gasp, she sprung bolt upright and found the culprit stood at the foot of her bed holding a wooden bucket.

“W-w-wh-what was that f-for?” she spluttered, her teeth chattering from the shock.

“You smell,” responded the young, dark-skinned woman, her tone even and matter-of-fact despite Berenice’s homicidal glare. “Just because you look like a heathen, doesn’t mean you have to smell like one.” 

Snarling and throwing off the sodden blanket, Berenice stood quickly, but her words were snatched away by a hiss as the cold stone floor registered beneath her bare feet. The chill was such that the fire must have gone out hours ago.

Water dripped from the faded grey tunic she had been given to wear - one that matched the rest of the servants - as the woman tossed a tattered towel at her.

“What about my bed?” Berenice snapped, gesturing with one hand as she used the towel to scrunch at her dripping hair with the other. 

“It’ll dry,” the servant said with a light shrug. “I’m Morven by the way. Come on.” The servant did not wait, just turned on her heel and strode away with the bucket as Berenice continued to dry herself off.

Throwing down the dampened towel and fighting a bone-deep shiver, Berenice growled out her anger and dutifully followed.

~oo~

The sun peeked over the wall and teased her with its warmth as they meandered through the grounds. She wished she could just stand still and soak it in for a while, let it warm her bones and dry the still damp hair that whipped around her face as they passed through the courtyard. 

This part of the castle was bigger than she remembered, scattered about with huge vases and squat beds filled with flowers and ornate grasses. A stone path, darker than the stone of the courtyard, cut wide through the center to the steps that led to the hall. It was beautiful, really, much more so than she’d thought from the darkened glimpse she’d caught last night tethered to the end of a rope.

Morven’s quick pace was unreasonable enough to make her back protest once more, so she slowed down and hung back a little, hoping to savor the plant life a while longer. Admiring the indigo flowers in the vase to her left, she reached out a hand to stroke the minute petals...

“Don’t touch those!” a terse voice cautioned, and Berenice jumped as a hand grabbed her shoulder.

“What the -?” she blustered, put off by the sudden appearance of a young man sporting a deep frown as he moved to stand between her and the vase. 

“It’s rude to touch other people’s things,” he added, flitting around the plant to ensure she hadn’t damaged it before looking at her over the edge of his glasses. “It’s poisonous anyway.”

Berenice opened her mouth to speak, but Morven grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away from the stranger as fast as she could. They didn’t stop until they were all the way out of the courtyard and into the kitchens, where Morven put her hands on Berenice’s shoulders and looked her dead in the eye.

“Don’t talk to him.”

“But -” Berenice began to protest, but Morven shook her head sharply.

“Nuh-uh. You _don’t_ talk to him. _No one_ talks to him. Not you. Not anyone. As far as you’re concerned, he’s not there. Do you understand?” 

The muscles forming the deeply confused furrow between Berenice’s brows twitched once as a million questions swirled within, but Morven seemed to take it as a nod and quickly released her. She kept her questions to herself as she was presented with a broom and told to get to work.

~oo~

It had taken her hours to sweep the entirety of the vast kitchens. Not because they were especially filthy - far from it, surprisingly - but because Morven had told her she was doing it wrong and instructed her to start over. She was still bristling with annoyance at being supervised by nothing more than a youngling when the kitchen staff bustled in to start breakfast.

Unprepared and unable to avoid the additional foot traffic, Berenice found herself roughly shoved into a wall as a foul-breathed boulder of a man crashed by. He paid her no heed as he moved to sit in front of the giant hearth and prepared to light a fire.

“Excuse you,” she growled, stalking over to him.

He grunted and as he hung a giant black cauldron, but didn’t so much as blink in her direction.

Berenice crossed her arms, drummed her fingertips against her bicep, and snapped, “I said _‘excuse you!’”_

She watched as the man leaned back, sniffing and snorting as he cleared his throat wetly before spitting a grey glob of snot at her feet.

Inflamed, Berenice hooked her foot between the legs of the stool he had squatted on and jerked it from underneath him. There was nothing he could do to keep his overly bulky frame upright and fat, clumsy hands grasped nothing but air as he crashed loudly to the floor.

Turning her back and dusting her hands with a satisfied smirk, she grabbed the broom intending to finish sweeping the floor, but the lummox found his feet quickly and a distinct metallic sound made her spin back around.

“You fucking _bitch!_ ” he roared, a large knife clutched in one hand. “I’ll cut your fucking throat!”

She raised the broom just in time to catch a blow that bit deep into the handle. A second blow snapped the broom in two, showering her with splinters. She sidestepped the next swing just a fraction too late and the edge of the knife cut shallow across her bare arm. She howled in pain as someone grabbed her around the waist from behind and jerked her back, hard.

“Calm down,” a male voice urged, as three more men restrained the raging cook. “Calm down, now that’s enough. You’re going to make that injury worse.”

She struggled against his hold despite the pain and tried to dig her heels into the ground, but his hands merely tightened and pulled even harder. He dragged her all the way out of the kitchens before releasing her with a sharp clip around the ear.

“Oi!” he snipped, the brief smack to the head enough for her to regain control. “Knock it off or I’ll just let you bleed.” 

Teeth clenched and brow deeply furrowed, Berenice watched him closely as he gently took her arm and inspected the cut high on her shoulder.

“It’s not bad,” he muttered, probing with fingers as Berenice tried not to wince out loud. “It’s a bit long, but lucky for you it’s pretty shallow.” He grinned cheerfully as he added, “You won’t lose the arm, that’s for sure,” and she couldn’t help the flicker of a smile that his easy charm brought to her face.

Inspection over, he swiped his hand on his shirt and then extended it out to her.

“Fletch.”

“Berenice,” she replied without pause, taking his hand and shaking it firmly.

When his eyes widened, she thought perhaps it was due to the strength of her grip, or maybe the callouses on her battleworn palms, but he just said, “I know who you are,” and nodded his head, suggesting she follow along. “Saw them bring you in last night.”

“Looked like everyone did.” Berenice winced as she pressed her hand to her wound to stem the bleeding as they walked. “Some kind of party?”

Fletch shoved his hands in his pockets, slowed his steps for a moment as if considering whether to answer. When he spoke, he simply gave a little shrug. “The wall is finished.”

“So it is,” Berenice murmured. She had seen it for herself, and proven in a single glance that her intel had been lacking on this side of the wild Wyvern River.

“People are saying it will even keep out Commander Wolfe,” Fletch said, sounding sure and proud even as Berenice snorted, unable to stop herself.

She schooled her features as he frowned hard, hung back a step as they approached what must be the infirmary.

“Come on then, let’s get you patched up.”

Berenice sat on a stool while he fetched the water, needle, and suture necessary to close her wound. He kept his eyes on his hands, still frowning darkly as he passed a wet cloth over the cut, making Berenice wince. 

Fletch looked up at her, needle held ready. “Do you need a bit of leather to bite down on?” Berenice shook her head sharply and just gritted her teeth.

Fletch tapped a raised scar on the side of her neck. “Where’d you come by that?” 

She hissed as the needle bit into the inflamed flesh of her arm, recognizing the question as a subtle but skilled distraction. “Lucky pikeman caught a gap in my helmet,” she explained, exhaling a slow and measured breath through her nose to calm her racing pulse. When she glanced to the side, he was halfway finished and she raised an eyebrow, impressed.

“What about that one there, on the left shoulder?” He tapped her again, some of the tension gone from his posture and tone. “The big one, not the smallish one.”

“Arrow skimmed me, took a fair bit of flesh with it.”

He chuckled as he tied off and snipped the suture. “You _have_ been in the wars, haven’t you?” 

Berenice flexed her arm, stretched out her shoulder as much as she could and gave a short, stiff nod. Long fingers skirted the knotted scar at her neck, hiding it from his view. Berenice frowned, suddenly melancholy.

“You have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down! How will Bernie fit in? How will Serena deal with an aggressive captive determined to escape? Stay tuned to find out.
> 
> Comments and critiques are most welcome. Many thanks again to my wonderful beta Nicolaruth27. If you haven't read her stuff, please go check it out.


	3. Serena, Empress of the Southern Lands

Growing impatient, Serena tapped her shoe on the stone floor of her council room as she waited. With a huff, she turned her attention to the map on the table in the center of the room. Small chips of carved wood showed how thinly spread her army was, and a collection of charcoal blacked tokens denoted enemy forces massing in the North. The sheer numbers were terrifying.

With a heavy sigh, she turned away from the table and started to pace. Ric was late. He was never late.

But then a sudden knock at the door made her head snap around and she had to press a hand to her neck to soothe a sharp pain. Her excitement was misplaced, however, and her face fell as she recognized the Magistrate, Henrik Hanssen.

He gave a curt bow as she ceased her pacing and waved a dismissive hand at the formality. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well, there’s been a bit of a problem with the, um...” he paused, searching for the right word, “... with the new servant.”

Serena sighed heavily again, suppressing the urge to droop. She’d known the Northerner would be a problem, but she hadn’t expected it immediately. A small, wishful part of her had hoped the woman might fit in without a fuss, might work among her subjects relatively unnoticed and she could carry on losing a war she’d never known how to fight.

“What kind of problem?”

“It seems she started a fight.” Henrik pushed his glasses further up on his aquiline nose. “One of the cleaning servants, Morven, claims that the cook started things but -”

“We’ve had problems with his temper before,” Serena cut in. “The incident with the finger?”

“Yes, the kitchen boy, I remember quite well, but…” Henrik fixed her with a serious look. “Given the circumstances, it would be unwise to take her side.”

“Even when one of our own vouches for her?” Serena’s expression grew dark. “If it were anyone else -”

“If it were anyone else, he’d be shipped off to Darwin at daybreak, but this situation is unprecedented.” Henrik pressed his hands to the map table. “We’ve never had a prisoner before. We don’t even have a gaol.”

“So, what, I have her flogged? Let it slide?” Serena pushed her hands into her hair, sending the delicate silver diadem to the floor. “What am I supposed to do, Henrik?” 

Stooping to pick up the diadem, he held it gingerly with spindly fingers for a moment, stared at it as if it held the answer to her question. Reverently, he turned and placed it back onto her head, opened his mouth to speak again just as the door creaked open.

Serena wrenched her neck again, more than anxious this time.

It was Ric.

“Sorry I am late, Your Highness.” The man bowed, his full plate armor squealing at the joints. “My horse took a tumble in the rain and I was forced to walk the rest of the way.” 

He cast tired eyes around the room and paused on Henrik’s puzzled expression. Ric stood upright and looked to Serena, eyebrow raised.

“Am I interrupting?” The question had a whimsical quality to it that relaxed her nearly instantly. Serena shook her head. 

“No. No, the Magistrate was just leaving.” Serena practically flew to the door, glad of the excuse to dismiss her problem despite still being without a solution.

Henrik bowed stiffly and hurried out, unwilling to look her in the eyes as he passed. 

“It’s good to see you well Ric.” Serena crossed over to him, squeezing his arm gently. “I was worried.” 

“What was all that about?” he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards the door.

Serena’s irritation flared at the mere thought of the troublesome interloper but she just crossed her arms and stuck out her chin. 

“I want your report first.”

~oo~

Ric bent over the map table where broad hands shuffled the chips and tokens like some horrific board game she wished she didn’t have to play.

He moved more and more black chips to join the horde in the North. But even more worrisome were the growing masses now at the East and West borders.

“I think we need to pull the majority of our troops back to the castle.” Ric’s tone was grave and his eyes were so tired she knew he hadn’t rested before coming to see her. “They’re likely to surround us before we can do serious damage to any of the fronts. We’re just too thinly spread out.”

“How soon?” Serena’s voice was low, nearly a whisper.

Ric shrugged, his armor creaking. “I don’t know.” He rested his hand on his chin, pensive. “A bit of good news, though...” 

Serena scoffed despite herself. “What about this is good news?” 

Situated in a narrow strip of land between the North and South kingdoms were a small group of blackened tokens; No Man’s Land. Ric chuckled as he tapped them.

“What about it?”

“Commander Wolfe’s forces have been patrolling the border.” Ric looked up from the map to explain. “My scouts say they stopped two weeks ago for supplies but haven’t moved since they crossed into the Mizzen.” 

“So?” 

“Rumor has it the good Commander has taken afoul of some treachery or illness.” Ric smiled when her eyebrows lifted in understanding. If Commander Wolfe was immobile, everyone could sleep a little safer for now.

“What if it’s a trick?”

“I thought of that too.” Ric swiped a dead leaf from the map, too energetic to be idle for long. “So I went to see for myself.”

Serena huffed, in no mood for preamble. “And?” 

“I don’t know exactly what is going on, but from the look of things, they’re nervous about something.” Ric took his hand and moved all the carved chips to the area around the castle. “It’s an opportunity we can’t miss. Lord Regent Self won’t move without Commander Wolfe.”

Serena took in his weary appearance once more, concerned. “How soon can you get the word out?” 

“I’d planned to leave in the morning. I’ll need a new horse I’m afraid.”

“Make it the day after. You need to rest.”

“Is that an order?” Ric’s eyes glinted playfully as Serena smiled.

“Yes.”

“So...” Ric moved away from the table and seated himself in a chair near the fire. “Do tell why you hurried Magister Hanssen out of here.”

“It’s a bit complicated.” Serena sat nearby, twiddling her fingers on her lap. “Suffice to say, we’ve captured a Northern scout. A woman.”

“Alive?” Ric’s eyes widened in surprise. “They can’t be captured alive, they top themselves before we get the chance to bind them.”

“Alive and kicking, I’m afraid.” Serena’s smile grew tight, still unsure what to do about the fiery blonde. “It seems she caused a ruckus in the kitchens yesterday.”

“You expected less?” Ric chuckled, pouring water into a wooden cup and drinking deeply. “I’m shocked she hasn’t killed someone yet.”

“I’ve never had a prisoner before...I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about her.” Serena felt the creeping distress tugging at her lungs. “One of the servants said the cook started things, but she’s an enemy, Ric. I don’t know if I’m to flay or pity her.” 

“Is the girl’s word good?” Ric looked over the rim of his cup. “The serving girl I mean.”

Fiddling with a splinter of wood from the table, Serena merely gave a nod.

“Put her somewhere else then,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Serena barked a hysterical laugh, caught herself and cleared her throat. “Where?”

“The stable would be good. There is always someone else on duty to oversee the horses and all of the stable hands are capable men.” He flashed her a bright smile. “She’ll soon do as she’s told. You’ll see.”


	4. Horse of a Different Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernie is assigned to stable duties and discovers Serena is far better off than her meager castle would seem.

Horse of a Different Color

Berenice wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, cursing both the early start and the humid weather. She sunk her shovel back into the soiled hay and hauled it haphazardly on top of the growing pile in her wheelbarrow before seizing the handles and trundling outside.

With the contents dumped, she spun the wheelbarrow around, intending to head back inside and continue cleaning the stable, but a commotion drew her attention: several young men trying to lead a large and clearly uncooperative white horse toward the corral.

It was a beautiful creature; imposing in size, sinuous, and a striking color compared to all the other horses in the stables. She’d wager a week’s food it was once a war horse. It looked as out of place in this kingdom as she felt.

Resisting its tethers, the horse dug its hooves into the earth and brayed harshly. When it suddenly flailed and bucked, it landed a solid kick on one of the men and Berenice winced as he flew backward and hit the ground hard.

As the others scrambled to restrain the stallion, hauling him into the fenced corral, Berenice chucked aside the shovel and ran over to help. 

The man gasped for breath, wind knocked from his lungs as Berenice knelt beside him. She held his head straight with one hand and spread the other over his belly.

“Look at me,” she instructed.

The young man spluttered and wheezed, but he did as he was told and fixed his eyes on hers.

He looked terrified.

“You’re going to be okay,” she said, pressing gently against his stomach. “Breathe into my hand.”

Teeth clenched and eyes closed, his chest shook with the strain of breathlessness. 

“Come on, deep breath!” Berenice urged, shaking her head to dispel the creeping dread of losing this young man.

He gaped, opening and closing his mouth like a fish in want of water, and so she pressed harder against his diaphragm. Anything to give him a focal point, to distract him from the effort of dying as he choked, desperate to inhale.

A quiet wheeze whistled past his teeth as the last of the air left his lungs. But still he did not inhale.

“Hey!” Berenice shook his face roughly with both hands. “Come on kid…”

His eyelids fluttered closed, the whites of his eyes showing as they rolled backwards.

Berenice hesitated for a single moment, hands pushed into her hair in frustration - She’d once lost a scout in her regiment who’d been thrown from his horse and she was determined not to lose this one - She struck him hard across the face with an open palm.

The young man gasped, dragged in a long deep breath, and then started to cough. Berenice stumbled backwards a little, barking a single euphoric laugh before turning him gently on his side while he gulped down air.

“Good job. Deep breaths,” she coached, rubbing his back in encouragement, thankful that the horse’s power hadn’t stopped his heart on the spot.

Voices and footsteps made her look up only a second before rough hands pushed her aside, knocking her on her back in the grass. The three stablehands encircled their comrade, patting his back and clamouring. Berenice stood up and forced her way between them, arms spread to push them back away from the gasping man.

“Go on, get back,” she snarled angrily. “Give him some air!”

The men hesitated a moment before stepping back to watch anxiously. Berenice knelt beside him once more, hands twitching over his ribcage to check for broken bones.

The young man bellowed in pain when she found one and then another.

Berenice looked up at the group, eyes fierce. “You’ll have to take him to the physician.” The men shared a glance, nervous and uncertain, but she wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Now!” she commanded, her authoritative voice cutting through their hesitation and they each took a limb, careful not to jostle their friend as they carried him away.

Berenice watched until they vanished into the castle, then turned her attention to the horse.

He was stamping the grass in the center of the paddock, pawing at the earth as if irritated. His ears lay flat to his head, occasionally twitching. Berenice jogged to the stable and grabbed an apple from the stores and returned to the fence. She clucked her tongue at him, holding out the apple to get his attention. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The horse eyed her cautiously and stomped again. His ears pricked up and she took it as a good sign.

Berenice swung her leg deftly over the fencing and dropped into the enclosure, arms wide to show she wasn’t a threat. She observed him quietly, noting the fine spray of lavender dapple spotting his lustrous white coat. He was a beautiful, powerful horse - one of the largest she had ever seen - with shaggy hair that covered his massive hooves, and a mane and tail ratty from lack of grooming. She wondered idly if the fault lay with the groomers or the horse. 

He took a few steps toward her, his head held high and tense. Berenice smiled softly at him and twisted the apple apart in her hands, placing one half on the ground. The horse whickered at her, sniffing the fresh scent of the apple between them. Berenice took a step back for every step the stallion took towards the treat. He picked up the apple, chewing loudly, still watching her carefully. She held out the other half to him, keeping her fingers flat so he could take it from her hand. 

The horse craned his neck, unwilling to move closer but desperate for the fruit in her hand. Berenice reached her other hand towards his muzzle, hoping he would let her touch him. A thick matted strand of his mane fell away from his head. Berenice could have sworn she’d seen a short, dull horn peeking through the clumpy hair.

“Oi!” A loud shout broke the spell between them.

The horse bolted, turning quickly, and Berenice flung herself on the ground to avoid the kicking hooves. Dirt sprayed her as the horse sprinted to the opposite side of the paddock.

When it was safe to get up, she climbed quickly over the fence to find the stablemaster striding over to her, his face nearly purple with rage.

“You’re supposed to be mucking the stalls!” He shouted, prodding her chest with a fat finger. “Not fucking about with my horses!”

“I was just -” Berenice tried, wanting to defend herself, to explain about the man who had been kicked, but he didn’t want to know.

“I know what you were doing. You think no one here is wise to you, but you Northerners are all the same!” He stepped closer, breathing his foul breath in her face as she balled her fists. When his eyes flicked downward, a smile spread across his lips, showing brown teeth. “You ain’t smart to pick a fight with me girl. And you ain’t clever enough to escape either. Don’t think I wasn’t watching you.”

He jabbed her in the chest again, snickering at her fierce glower.

“Now get back in there and do your job.”

~oo~

Berenice sighed deeply, settling the wheelbarrow in its spot and striding out of the stable into the dying sunlight. She turned her face to the sunset, enjoying the cooling breeze on her sweaty brow. The stablemaster had left an hour ago, satisfied that she wouldn’t cause any more trouble. 

Her arms ached and her legs throbbed and she was far too tired to do much but sit.

Pressing her back against the stable wall, she stretched her legs out and rolled her ankles, wincing at the resulting cracks and pops before brushing at an insect tickling her neck.

A familiar voice floated over to her, interrupting her lazy thoughts. “I wouldn’t sit there if I were you…” Berenice blinked and sat up straight to look around. She cursed herself, having been snuck up on. _Again_. Maybe she was losing her touch…

Her eyes fell on the strange young man she had seen the day before. The one with the poisonous flowers.

The one she wasn’t supposed to talk to.

“I’m not hurting anything.” Berenice didn’t see the harm in the conversation. After all, he’d spoken to her first. She thumped the wall behind her as if to demonstrate its solidness.

He frowned at her, arms crossed over the fence between them. “Yes you are.” 

“And pray tell,” Berenice narrowed her eyes at him, unwilling to be put off by his attitude. “What would that be?”

“You’re sitting on an ant hill.”

Berenice leapt to her feet, hands slapping at her sackcloth breeches. Sure enough, her legs were covered in dozens of red ants. An elaborate shuffle ensued, leaving her with fewer ants but more muscle pain.

Limping over to the fence, she noted that the young man had yet to start laughing.

“You should apologize,” he said flatly as he kept his cautious eyes on her.

His request was childish enough to convince her to do it. And so she waved her hand and winced an apology to the ants before brushing another insect away from her shoulder.

“I’m Bern…” she started, holding out her hand for him to shake, but he shied away from it as if she’d held out a hot poker. 

“I know who you are,” he stated with an unsettling stare.

A cold shiver ran up her spine, but she hid it well. Braving a smile, she wondered if perhaps he just meant he knew her because she was different. He looked to know a thing or two about being different.

“I gather most people know who I am by now.”

His expression never wavered as he spoke. “No, they don't.” It was an assertion that both relieved and unnerved her further, and she narrowed wary eyes at him, kept her voice low, forcing him to step closer to hear her properly.

“And who are you to know so much about me?”

“I am Jason.” He looked away from her and out toward the paddock where the horse still trotted fitfully to and fro. “And you are Commander Wolfe.”

Berenice froze as her heart hammered hard in her chest. Jason seemed to notice and patted her shoulder stiffly as she tried to relax her white knuckled grip on the fence.

“I haven’t told anyone. Not even Auntie Serena.” He swiped his hand on his tunic and returned his gaze to the horse. “I haven’t seen him out in a while. Someone really should take better care of him. He was a birthday present you know.”

Berenice stood speechless, unsure how to handle both the realization that he knew who she was and the abrupt change in topic. The young man was strange, pensive, and blunt and she wasn’t sure how to feel about him at all. Every word he spoke seemed to vanish the dirt beneath her feet and leave her off balance. How was it possible that he knew her, when no other person here had a clue?

She was just about to ask, when Jason gave her a tight smile and quickly walked away, leaving her dazed and confused.

“Goodbye.”

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed the first chapter! I couldn't have done it without my lovely Beta - Nicolaruth27
> 
> Liberties have been taken with the characters but I have done my best to keep them as true as possible in the context of the world I made for them.


End file.
